PS 2299 
L59 34 
I Copy 1 






LIBRARY OF COi^^GRESS. 




DNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



« 



'mm 



BEADS OF MORNIiNG, 



\/ 



WILLIAM S. LORD. 




- ( 



" Beticls of mornirtig, 
Struing on slender blades of grass. 



EVANSTON, ILL.: 
UNIVliRSlTY PRESS CO. 

1888. 






Copyright, i883, by 
W I I. Tv I A M S. I. O R D 



50 MY Y/ir&. 



U^^M^SI 



A Poet's Pi.ea, ------- 7 

Spenser, --------- 9 

noctuary, -------- ii 

A Summer Morning, - - - - - - - 12 

The Sea Gui^ls, ------- 13 

Preference, -------- 14 

On a Fi.y-IvEaf to Emerson's Poems, - - 15 

Admonition, ----- ^ - - 16 

A Puritan Maiden, ---_.- 17 

Love Is Dead, -------- 18 

A Sunset, --------- 19 

In a Christmas-Gift Copy of LongfeIvI^ow, - 20 

Sweet Home, -------- 21 

Appreciation, -------- 22 

The Hermit, -------- 23 

Shadows, --------- 24 

The Last Year's Nest, . - . - _ 25 

Eclipse, - - - - - - - - - 26 

Two Women, -------- 27 



6 BEADS OF MORNING. 

Lines, ---------- 28 

"I Thank You Much," ---.--- 29 

At Twenty-two, - - - - - - - - 30 

To Mother, .---.--- 31 

Another Year, -------- 32 

Sonnets : Recompense, ------ 33 

In Memory, ------ 34 

In Sight, ..--.- 35 

Doubt, _------ 36 

Transition, ------ 37 

September Twenty-fifth, - - - - 38 

Love's Blossom, ----- 39 

To a Rose, ------ 40 

After Reading " Boots and Saddles," - 41 

The Nation's Enemy - - - - 42 

War, ------- 43 

mozoomdar, -------- 44 

Man's Knowledge, »-----■ 46 

Unexplored, -------- 47 

On the King's Highway, ----- 48 

Man's Heritage, ------- 50 

The Burdened Pilgrims, ----- 53 

" Teach Me Thy Way." ------ 56 

Worship, --------- 57 

The Rain, --------- 58 

A Song oe Faith, -.-----" 59 

Water Lilies, -------- 60 



feEAlDS OP fl^Oi^Fjjr^G. 



A POET'S PLEA. 

/P\ LET me live with those dear souls, 
^"^ The masters of my art; 
The sweetness of their song controls 
The pulses of the heart. 

O let me living each day feel 

Their influence divine, 
By each day breaking some new seal 

To drink their precious wine. 

For they have poured the wine of life 

In lasting forms of art; 
The vital virtue in them rife 

Can never more depart. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 

Yet he who will the wine may quaff, 

And satisfy his thirst, 
No demon face will come to laugh, 

To call the drinker curst. 

But visions of the good will rise; 

The noble and the just 
Will smile on him from paradise 

And raise him from the dust. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 



SPENSER. 

O WEET spring of purest poetry divine, 

^— ' Whose ever clear, continual, silver stream 

Has given refreshment to a lofty line 

Of sweet-lipped poets ! Even now I seem 
To see dear Keats, as in a lovely dream, 
Lie low to drink thy crystal, sparkling flow. 

As bright o'er moss and pebble it doth gleam, 
Where willow branches bend, in vain, to slow 
Thy tuneful tide, that ever with a song doth go. 

I owe thee many a most delightful hour 

Spent in the goodly land of Faery, 
Where Virtue is the all -successful power; 

Where Strength and Beauty live in chastity; 

Where Greed and Hate succumb to Charity; 
A happy land, in sooth, where those who grieve 

Can claim redress from knights of high degree 
Arrayed in armor bright, nor harm receive, 
Nor wicked forces charm, nor strategems deceive. 



lo BEADS OF MOA'NING. 

I cannot walk the ground great Shakespeare trod; 

The Avon is a stream unknown to me; 
I've seen no flower that sprang from Bnghsh sod, — 

Not even the primrose in its modest}-, — 

And if I had, could I assured be 
It looked the same as when the master saw 

And fixed it in his mind indelibly ? 
Yet here did Shakespeare inspiration draw, 
Nor changed the least, not knowing Time's destruc- 
tive law. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 



NOCTUARY. 

^HE night is calm, no sound disturbs the air 

>^ Save nature's voices, such as summer brings 

To cheer the harvester. Ah ! such a time 

Would be oppressed with silence, were it not 

That crickets, katydids and piping frogs 

With one another vie to voice the hour. 

No softly-stirring wnnd to bend a blade 

Of grass, or rustle listless leaves, that Night, 

With magic w^and, has turned to ebony. 

The gentle zephyrs even have gone to sleep, 

While, overhead, set in the deep, calm heavens 

The stars are looking down — the myriad stars — 

Upon the myriad sleeping forms of Earth. 

Such is the night. Up to the patient stars 

I turn my face. To gaze upon them long 

Does isolate m}- human soul, and throw^s 

Around me boundless space, until I seem 

To fellow stars, and walk their ways, and not 

The ways of men. And then a yearning comes 

For human fellowship — a hand touch, warm, 

To make the whole world dear and near — to lift 

The veil of loneliness that falls about 

Me, as the night about the sleeping Earth. 



12 BEADS OF MORNING. 



A SUMMER MORNING. 

/|) SKY of blue with white sails set 
^ To stay the soft south wind; 
A carpet green, that treasures yet 
The gems Night left behind. 

A bird has lit on yonder bough: 
She scolds her mate, who sings 

Anew each tender, sacred vow, 
And tells the love he brings. 

Upon a grassy knoll I lie, — 

The green leaves swing in glee; 

Far down the east the gentle sky 
Presses the waves toward me. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 

THE SKA GULLS. 
I. 

/^REAT snowy drifts flit overhead, 

^^ Their edges fired a golden red; 

The placid waters of the lake 

The colors of the sky partake, 

And sea-gulls, darting here and there, 

Swift-cutting through the tinted air, 

Turn downward in their headlong speed, 

And, diving in the liquid waste, 

They catch their silvery prey, then haste 

'Mid air again, as if new freed. 

IL 
Fair silent Hopes, with joy tinged warm, 
Their journej^s through Mind's realm perform; 
The deep pure waters of the Soul 
The soft tints of the Mind control. 
And swift-winged Thoughts, that fly so fast 
With tidings from the fading past, 
Turn downward in their present need. 
And, sinking in the Soul's still wave, 
They find some living Truth, and brave 
The future with a nobler deed. 



14 



BEADS OF MORNING 



PREFERENCE. 

WOULD be a dew drop 

In a lily's cup, 
Rather than the ocean 

No sun drinketh up. 
Ocean's bounding billows 

Wreck the strongest ships, 
Mine the lot to moisten 

Purity's pale lips. 



BEADS OF MORNING, 15 



ON A FLY-I,EAF TO EMERSON'S POEMS. 

l^ARK ! and music thou shalt hear 

C Waving from a distant sphere; 
Win the wisdom of a soul 
Wrapping worlds from pole to pole; 
Catch the whisper of the breeze; 
Learn the language of the trees; 
Shalt feel the heart-beat in the stone 
And know that never thou'rt alone; 
That every rock and tree's a brother, 
While Nature is the only mother. 
Dug no ore is from the earth 
Can compare with this in worth; 
Richest product of our land ! 
Though she fall yet this shall stand. 



i6 BEADS OF MORNING. 



ADMONITION. 

t^USY bees in the summer 
^^^ Gather honey sweet; 
Store to while the winter weather 

In a snug retreat. 
Poets ! gather in the summer 

Sweets from fancy's flowers, 
To beguile the winter weather 

Of its tedious hours. 



BEADS OF MORNING, 17 



A PURITAN MAIDEN. 

/|) DEW-DROP in a lily's cup, 
y~^ Before the sun hath kissed it up, 
That softly trembles as it lies 
Reflecting June's serenest skies. 
Is not more pure and fair confessed. 
Nor holds more heaven in its breast, 
Nor gives more joy, nor seems more good, 
More perfect, than thy maidenhood. 



i8 BEADS OF MORNING. 

LOVE IS DEAD. 

/^If^OAN, ye wind, moan, oh moan, 
J iX (Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) 
Toss ye the trees till they groan, 
(Fog o' th' fen and salt o' the sea) 
Love is dead. 
Tears are shed, 
Hope has fled; 
Dole ye a dirge with me. 

Where have they buried him, wind ? 
(Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) 
Search through the world till ye find, 
(Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) 
Now quick and now slow, 
Above and below, 
Away let us go ! 
Where he is buried lay me. 

Gone is the sweet o' th' rose, 

(Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) 
Where it is he only knows, 

(Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) 
The skies are not blue. 
Nor sparkles the dew. 
All hearts are untrue — 
Naught but the salt o' th' seal 



BEADS OF MORNING. 19 



A SUNSET. 

^^HB sun withdrew, and passed the golden gates 

That bar his eastern kingdoms from those west, 
With all the splendor of an hundred states 
In richest regal pomp and glory dressed. 
Behind him, on white steeds, came closely pressed 
His knights and ladies, and their nearest mates, 
Bach leaning on his charger's golden crest. 
And far behind they left their lengthening trail — 
A darkl}^ deepening, diamond-studded veil. 



20 BEADS OF MORNING . 



IN A CHRISTMAS-GIFT COPY OF 
LONGFELLOW. 

^^HK .songs of this simple poet, 
^^ Whose life, like a summer's day, 
Was filled with a golden sunshine 
That melted the mists away. 

Are full of a peaceful music, 
Like that of a vesper hymn 

As it comes through an open window 
When the day is growing dim. 

The faith and the peace of the poet 
Are born in our hearts again, 

For his burden of song, forever. 
Is " peace and good-will to men." 



BEADS OF MORNING. 21 



*• SWEET HOME." 

O OFT was the song she sung; 
^^ Soft as the breeze among 

Tree-tops in June; 
Out on the wind it swept, 
Into my heart it crept— 

Pale was the moon. 

Sweet was the song she sung, 
Yes, sweet in every tongue 

Spoken below; 
Sweet as a mother's love, 
Sweet as the home above 

Whither we go. 

Still o'er my heart it threw 
Sadness, like evening dew 

Falling on flowers; 
For in her voice I heard 
Song of some stricken bird 

Kept from green bowers. 



22 B EADS OF MORNING 



APPRECIATION. 

1 T(5\H0SK heart by love was never quickened, 
^^ Whose eyes were never dim with grief, 
No words can teach the holy passion, 

Nor give his heavy heart relief. 
To know the beauty of the poet's thought, 
A soul as beautiful must first be brought. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 



THE HERMIT, 

1 PASSED a hermit's hut one day; 

I stopped to question him; 
I asked him why he stole away 
To live a life so grim. 

A gentle smile lit up his face, 
And beamed from out his eyes; 

In language full of lordly grace 
Thus spake the hermit wise : 

Who hath a friend in rock and stone 
May live a hermit not alone; 
Who loveth flower and shrub and tree 
Lives with a various company. 
On every hand, in every clime. 
In winter and in summer-time, 
Companioned with these silent friends 
He finds enough to meet his ends. 



23 



24 BEADS OF MORNING. 



SHADOWS. 

O ILENTLY, slowly, the daylight fades 
^^ As the sun sinks low in the west; 
Softly and sweetly the evening shades 

Woo the mother-bird back to the nest; 
Tenderly, gently the shadow persuades, 

And the world seeks quiet and rest. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 25 



THE LAST YEAR'S NEST. 

WENT to the spot where the last year's nest 
Once lay upon the ground, 
But not a trace of the last year's nest 

Remained there to be found. 
Gone to the winds, like the scent of the rose; 
Oh, where is the last year's nest? 
With its feathers and hair, 
And its tree-twigs bare, 
Oh, where is the last year's nest ? 

Long had the tenants forsaken the place, 

And left it alone in the wood; 
But once it was filled with a fair, sweet face, 

And a presence so perfectly good, 
That I thought all the grace in this world so fair 
Was out in a body and bound up there 
In the last year's nest. 



26 BEADS OF MORNING, 



ECLIPSE. 

OOME lives seem spherical, and brightly shine 
^ With beauty born of Truth's resplendent ray, 
When, lo! a shadow's cast: the broken line 
Traces in darkness Falsehood's evil way. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 27 



TWO WOMEN. 

ZONE'S face with love was all aglow, 
^^ And in her arms she bore a child; 
Her dress was simple, not for show, 
And sweet she smiled. 

The other had a face like stone; 

A petted " pug " was in her arms; 
Rich jewels on her person shone, — 

Her only charms. 



28 BEADS OF MORNING. 



LINES, 

Upon Hearing that a Certain Poet Had Cast 
Off His Daughter. 

;0 break thy harp ! Its silver strings 
No longer sing of sacred things. 
Beneath its music one can hear 
The voice whose harshness brings a tear. 

The love we thought was in thy heart 
Was but the masquerade of art; 
lyove came to thee, thine own, unfed, 
Thou gav'st a stone to her for bread ! 

A poet thou f Then what a shame 
Hath fallen on the sacred name ! 
Thou canst not claim it, hypocrite ! 
Thou'st cast too much of shame on it. 



I 



BEADS OF MORNING. 29 

I THANK YOU MUCH. 
To C. G. B. 

THANK you much, my poet friend; 
The words of kindness which you send 
Do cheer my heart; they come (indeed, 
Like truest friends, in time of need) 

The broken thread of song to mend. 

Almost forgotten that dear end 
For which I'd live, when you descend 
And bid me climb and cry "Succeed! " 
I thank you much. 

Sometime I hope, before we spend 
What life old miser Time will lend, 

To grasp your hand (you'll wish it freed) 
And thank you for the words I read; 
For every line that you have penned 
I thank you much. 



30 BEADS OF MORNING. 



AT TWENTY-TWO. 

iQT twenty-two! and I can say 
y^ As bygone years pass in review, 
That life grows sweeter every day 
At twenty-two. 

More sweet, dear love, for loving you, 
And sweeter for each day's delay 
Of love like yours, so sweet and true. 

With fields and flowers along life's way, 
And skies above of tender blue, 
What need to think of getting gray, 
At twenty-two! 



BEADS OF MORNING. 



TO MOTHER. 

Alas, we grow old and we think of the day 
When gentle hands led us and softened our way; 
And we love many times and we're loved in return 
Ere the ever-proved love of our mothers we learn. 

Dear mother, think not that the heart of your boy 
Has never been moved by the love you employ; 
By the love you employ with a mother's true art, 
Till it sinks, like an arrow, deep into the heart. 

Other loves may be wrecked, like a ship on the shore, 
But your love, my dear mother, is mine evermore ; 
Misfortune would make me to you the more dear, 
And move from its fountain sweet sympathy's tear. 

To-day is your birthday, and what shall I bring ? 
Not these little verses I tremblingly sing ! 
They are not so dear as the soft nurser}^ rhymes. 
Where slumber lay hiding in infancy's times. 

Oh, no, 'tis not these that I bring you to-day. 
But the love of my heart, which no verses can say ; 
No tongue has yet spoken the love that was felt, 
For love has a meaning no language has spelt. 



32 BEADS OF MORNING 



ANOTHER YEAR. 

/|)NOTHER year ! ah me, I've passed 
y^ A milestone more, and now I cast 

A moment's glance behind to trace 
The journey to this resting place, 
Where, if I could, I'd anchor fast. 

Great love has blessed me first and last— 
The only fortune I've amassed — 

What greater could I ask to grace 
Another year ! 

One day my skies were overcast. 

From out mysterious regions vast 

Death came, and in her soft embrace 
A loved one took— my mother's face 

Will smile upon me from the past, 
Another year. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 



33 



RECOMPENSE. 

/^S some great tree that deeper, day by da}^, 
J^ Takes root into the earth — some hardy oak 
That firmer stands for every tempest stroke, 
Ard grapples with huge rocks which bar its way — 
Doth push abroad, into the winds that sway, 

N ew branches and new buds, which suns provoke 
To leaves of living green, until they cloak 
Its trunk in beauty, and new strength display, 
So does the human soul, when torn with grief, 
Grown stronger for the trial and the pain, 
Reach out for truths that know" not time nor 
change. 
And hold them fast, until they bring relief, 
While hope and gladness blossom out again 
In beauty new and wonderful and strange. 



34 



BEADS OF MORNING 



IN MEMORY. 

^\ IKE some dim dream, so wrapped within the folds 
^^ Of sleep, all vague and shadowy it seems 

At the awaking hour, until there beams 
Upon it all the light that memory holds, 
Are those sweet days we spent in woody wolds 

Beside the lake, that, fed with silver streams, 

Lay softly rippling 'neath the golden gleams 
That filled the hollows of its wat'ry moulds. 
And now, as one who, waking, seeks to mend 

The broken structure of his sleeping thought. 
And finds but fragments, and to meet his end 

Doth furnish substance which his dream ne'er 
brought, 
I set such sweets within those happy days 
They stand apart beyond the reach of praise. 



BEADS OF MORNING 



35 



IN SIGHT. 

/^ONG years, beloved, held us far apart; 

A waste of days, the goal beyond our sight, 

We onl}^ knew by our firm faith in right. 
That somehow, some day, bringing heart to heart, 
Our ways would meet and never more would part, 

And we would both be happy, bearing light 

To make life's journey for each other bright, 
And knowing balm to heal each burning smart. 
But now, oh, joy ! beloved, see the goal; 

Behold the glory of that mountain peak ! 

Ah, sweet, your eyes are lit with happy tears, 
A light is in them laying bare your soul. 

A little while, dear love, and all we seek 

Will then be ours, to crown the coming years. 



36 BEADS OF MORNING 



DOUBT. 

DOUBT, thou fell destroyer of all peace; 
Dark murderer of faith ; disturber of 
The heart's most holy passion, perfect love, 
From out my breast ! I grant no longer lease 
To thee, foul tenant ! Hear ! I bid thee cease ! 
Stop whispering in mine ear that thou canst prove ! 
Thou liest, and my heart canst never move 
Though thou thy ravings many times increase. 
Oh, those who harbor thee but once do rue 
The day : they live to curse thy progeny. 
Thrice blest is he whose arm of Faith, well built, 
Has had the strength to send bright sun -shafts 
through 
Thy hideous darkness, and been wholly free. 
Without a taint of thine abhorrent guilt. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 37 



TRANSITION. 

IT(^ITH happy hands I formed a frame around 
^^ A dear, sweet face, and gazed into the eyes, 
Their utmost, hidden depths of blue to sound. 

In search of those sweet springs of paradise 
Whereat the thirsting soul may satisfy 

Itself in pools of light and love and life. 
I thought I had discovered where do lie 

Those secret fountains, still, unstirred by strife. 
When, suddenly, Death trailed her shadowy shroud; 

My face grew grave and pale ; I loosed my hands, 
And, looking in Love's face, v\^here, like a cloud 

Before the sun, stood Wonder, thought whose bands 
Would Death first loose, and prayed that hers first be 

And she be spared the pain of mourning me. 



38 BEADS OF MORNING. 



SEPTEMBER TWENTY-FIFTH. 

t^ERHAPS in all this cruel, changeful world 

\ There may be some who hate this blessed day 
Because it brought them terror and dismay, 

Or from some seat of fortune found them hurled; 

Or some, with joy's bright banner closely furled, 
May keep the day in sadness, giving way 
To grievous tears, that burn as deep to-day 

As when from sorrow's source they first were whirled. 

Oh, you that hate the day, and speak it ill. 
Be sure it brought a gem beyond all price; 

And you who weep, uncomforted, be still, — 
An angel came this day from paradise; 

Upon this day my dearest love was born, — 

The rarest jewel day hath ever worn. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 39 



LOVE'S BLOSSOM. 

|HEN first love's blossom burst within my heart 
I felt its beauty was a priceless prize; 
I thought the 3'ears, though brought from paradise, 
Could bring no flower so fair in every part; 
And I in praise had sung ' ' How fair thou art ! 
How beautiful unto my spirit's eyes ! 
Nor was, nor will be, flower more sweet than lies 
So soft unfolding in my trembling heart." 

But still the blossom grew each day more fair; 
I said, oh, man}^ times ! "Love's flower, at last, 
Is perfect, ' ' nor, till Sorrow came, with tears 
That fell upon it through the saddened air, — 
The while it closed and held its fragrance fast — 
Till shone the sun, saw I the crown of years. 



40 BEADS OF MORNING. 



TO A ROSE. 

t^RAY go, sweet flower, unto my love and let 
A, Her drink thy beauty in with her soft eyes, 

And with each breath, and fill her breast with sighs- 
And if in her sweet thoughts thou should' st beget 
Of me, so that her lips should touch and wet 

Thee with their dew, O rose, if thou art wise. 

And can by any subtle art devise 
A way, tell her thy passion while as yet 
Thou wert a bud, unfolding to the sun 

And listless, wandering winds, thy spotless robe 
Of white, and all the sweetness thou hadst spun 

Within the circle of thy bursting globe; 
Tell her, O sweet, fair rose ! that she may know 
The joy she brought to me long years ago. 



BEADS OF MORNING, 41 



AFTER READING MRS. CUSTER'S "BOOTS 
AND SADDLES." 

O WEET wife, true woman, with a soul as brave 

^^ As was thy soldier husband's, by whose side, 
Forgetful of discomfort, satisfied, 

It was th}^ choice to take what fortune gave. 

Without him, oh, how dark the shadows wave! 
How lonely is thy life with him denied 
Who was thy constant friend and shield and guide — 

Two lives lie buried in his honored grave. 

And yet no shadow falls across this book 
Which thou hast writ out of a heart as sad 

As ever throbbed with grief in woman's breast. 
How great thy hero's joy now he can look 
Into thy heart and read its message, glad 

To whisper "love" and "peace," and " God 
knows best." 



42 BEADS OF MORNING. 



THE NATION'S ENEMY. 



WHEN I do read the ever glowing page 
Of my dear country's noble history; 
Behold the names that brighten every page 

With deeds heroic, both on land and sea, 
And mark the wisdom of clear-minded men 

Who saw the future with keen, anxious eyes; 
Who built not only for themselves, and then, 

But gave us strength for coming centuries; 
Then do I think of all the present need 

For men as great as those who went before, 
With brain and hand prepared for thought and deed, 

To keep the state secure in peace and war. 
Adversity, three-fold, has given place: 
Prosperity now meets us face to face. 



BEADS OF MORNI\NG 



43 



WAR. 

T T®) AR rears his martial front, demands much gold 
And human life, the severance of ties 
That bind the happy household; then arise 
The nations, grant his quest, and Peace is sold, 
Who all the world in brotherhood would hold, 
And all her bounty she must sacrifice 
That cruel wounds may bleed, and moaning cries 
Throughout the w^orld be echoed manifold. 
What glory, nations, can ye find in war, 

That furrows up thy fields with plows of hell. 
And from the people's hearts the life-blood drains? 
O might his ravages be known no more. 

And come the message angel tongues shall tell: 
** Grim war is dead and Peace forever reigns." 



44 BEADS OF MORNING. 



MOZOOMDAR. 

^HE East ! the East ! Lo ! there appears 

^^ The light that drives our darkUng fears; 

The rosy tint of a new dawn 

Now flushes over lake and lawn. 

How soft it comes ! yet scatters wide 

The clouds of doubt on every side; 

Breaks gently through Agnostic gloom, 

And lights the path beyond the tomb. 

Its tender radiance 'round each head, 

The living sinner, sainted dead, 

A wondrous circle outward casts 

Excluding evil while it lasts. 

God sends his prophets to each age: 

The Indian Buddha, Grecian sage, 

The Hebrew prophet, each a day 

Hath ushered in, and cleared away 

The darkness that before it lay. 

O Glorious Sun ! Refulgent Eight ! 

Can greater glory greet man's sight ? 



BEADS OF MORNING. 45 



O Christ, Redeemer, Saviour ! Thou 

Hast given the light we live in now; 

And shall we doubt what we have heard- 

The holy gospel of thy word ? 

" A brighter day than mine shall be 

And linger over land and sea." 

Is this faint flush that gives its rose 

Unto the Himalayan snows 

The first faint flush of that new day 

That now is on its western way ? 



45 BEADS OF MORNING. 



MAN'S KNOWLEDGE. 

SAW some children in a workshop where 
Were scattered all about them many kinds 
Of tools their fathers might have used to make 
Things useful, but to them their uses were 
As hidden as if they had none. Two or three 
Of all the number gave their souls delight. 
With these they set to work, to shape, in their 
Rude fashion, bits of wood and cakes of clay; 
And as I watched them this is what I thought: 
The Universe is God's great workshop, where 
Like babes, with small intelligence, men use 
His tools and rich materials to make 
Their childish toys that please them for a day. 
They shape, in their rude fashion things they think 
Are wonderful; they play with fire and steam 
And make them captive slaves to do their will; 
The wind and lightning are their messengers, 
And yet no hand, except the hand of God, 
Knows the true use of these His instruments, 
And He alone produces wondrous works. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 47 

UNEXPLORED. 

I. 

1^0 longer braves the storm- tossed, unknown main 
^ f The mariner, to gain 

New kingdoms for his king; 
No longer do the sister-sirens sing, 
And hope the captive souls of men to bring 

To their cool ocean caves, 
Where they shall list enchanted to the sounding waves . 

II. 

The worlds go singing on their endless ways 

Eternal hymns of praise; 

And watchers from our star 
Behold their countless courses from afar — 
A holy harmony which naught can mar. 

Where song and service blend, 
And through the universe the love of beauty send. 

III. 
Yet there are nearer heavens and nearer shores 

Than these which man explores; 

The wide immortal soul 
About our feet doth never ceasing roll, 
And binds us safely to the perfect whole; 

And what therein is stored, 
We wait the angel Death that it may be explored. 



48 BEADS OF MORNING 



ft 



ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 

WEARY traveler, shrunken and gra3% 
Sat down with his burden beside the way. 



"Kind sir," he called to a passer-by, 
Who had strength and the sparkle of youth in his 
eye, 

* ' Thou dost journey fast. Wouldst thou lend a hand 
To one who is weak and can hardly stand?" 

" I cannot tarry," the youth replied, 
"Temptation is pressing on every side, 

"The Lord cries 'come,' and I haste, I haste. 
There is not a moment of time to waste, 

' ' For life is short and the way is long — 

I must make the journey while life is strong." 

•^ ^ :^ ^ ^ ^Jf- 

Another followed the king's highway. 
And met the traveler, worn and gray. 

"Oh, whither art bound?" the graybeard cried, 
"To the City of Christ," the youth replied, 

Then turned to the weak one, and kindly asked, 
" Is that, too, the journey thy strength has tasked?" 



BEADS OF MORNING. 49 

He took from his store and gave him to eat — 
''Together we'll journey dear Jesus to meet. ' ' 

The burden he lifted grew suddenly light, 
And beside him an angel in raiment of white. 

* ' In the city of Christ thou shalt find thy reward — 
Thy service is good." 'Twas the voice of the lyord. 



50 BEADS OF MORNING. 



MAN'S HERITAGE. 

(^ H ! who is he can say he's poor, bereft 
j^ An heritage to make him rich; or left 
Without a friendship of the better kind, 
Alone, the true and false of life to find? 

Myriad hosts of men have lived and died, 
Bequeathing to the world an eventide, 
The lessons of their daily lives, in deeds, 
In thoughts, in words; and these have sprung as 
seeds. 

Each day, through all the ages past, 
Has added something to the last; 
With hundred tongues each year has rung, 
And thousand-voiced have centuries sung. 

Each word, each act, each thought sublime 
Has served a step, on which to climb 
To paths more near the lofty height 
Whence cometh knowledge and all light. 



BEADS OF BIORNING. 51 



The topmost of these paths are ours, 

To beautify with love and flowers. 

And unto us 'tis also given 

That we should bear with us toward Heaven 

A plant from meaner walks below, 

And nourish it that it may grow. 

For us were made the moon, the stars:' 

Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Mars, 

Are ours to wonder at, and see 

Reflected there the Diety. 

And in our quest of better things 

Oh, never may these truths take wings : 

The sick are ours, to nurse, to heal — 

And theirs the joy our touch to feel; 

The blind are ours to lead aright 

And kindly point the way to light; 

And ours the weak to stronglj^ aid 

Ere our own strength become decayed. 

Yes, all of these are ours, 
And ours to do. 



52 BEADS OF MORNING 



When each has done his best 
He's summoned to his rest: 
This last the blessed gift- 
It into Heaven doth lift 

The weary one 
Among eternal flowers. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 53 



THE BURDENED PILGRIMS. 

/QlvONG the road from birth to death 
y~^ Three weary pilgrims met ; 
The while they drew a lengthened breath 
Their burdens down the}' set. 

One wight was weighted with a load 

He carried on his back ; 
The wonder was he kept the road 

With such a heavy pack. 

The second bore upon his head 
His burden, standing square ; 

Its weight was such it might be lead 
Or other heavy ware. 

The third had, belted at his side 

A little round-shaped thing ; 
A burden he could never hide 

Nor ever from him fling. 



54 



BEADS OF MORNING. 



Cried one unto his brothers fair, 

' ' Kre further we proceed, 
Let each the other's burden bear," 

To which they all agreed. 

And then they struggled, but in vain, 

Bach other's load to lift ; 
Exerting all their might and main 

The burdens would not shift. 

Then questioned each the other w ight 

In accents of surprise, 
' ' What is the burden seems so light 

And yet so heavy lies ? " 

Made answer Pilgrim of the Pack, 
His hands begrimed with soil, 

' ' The load I carry at my back 
Is many years of toil." 

Then he who bore upon his head 
A weight to bear him down, 

Made answer, in a tone of dread, 
" My burden is a crown." 



BEADS OF MORNING. 55 

The belted pilgrim then replied, 

' ' Mine is the hardest part, 
For, ever pressing at my side, 

I bear a heavy heart. ' ' 



56 BEADS OF MORNING. 



' ' TEACH MB THY WAY. ' ' 

^EACH me Thy way, dear Lord ! O let 
1(5') 

My soul walk with Thee, if it may ! 

I did not always wish it, yet 
Teach me Thy way ! 

Guide Thou my footsteps ! I'll obey. 
And follow, ere the dew hath wet 
The burning lips of dying day. 

Lend me Thy staff ! I'll not forget 
My Helper in my sad dismay. 
To the sweet heights of Olivet 
Teach me Thy way. 



BEADS OF MORNING. 



WORSHIP. 

^?HK flower that lifts its smiling face 

Above the loving sod, 

Hath little need of words to trace 

Its upward way to God. 

The lark that bathes its slender wings, 
At morn, in heaven's blue, 

Needs nothing but the song it sings 
To prove it Heaven-true. 

Then, flower like, let our deeds divide 
The heart-soil full of love, 

And faith find wings on which to glide. 
Song-laden, far above. 



58 BEADS OF MORNING. 



THE RAIN. 

ITC^HEN life's noon sun is beating 
^^ In fiery fury down, 
And faith's bright color fading 
Into a cheerless brown ; 

When paths that lie before me 

Seem desolate and waste ; 
When joys have stopped their singing, 

And friends no longer haste ; 

When hope, the tree that sheltered 

And nourished better life. 
Is leaf by leaf fast falling 

Beneath the noon-tide strife, 

May such a heavenly blessing 

As the refreshing rain. 
Bring back the youth that's fading, 

And make it bloom again. 



BEADS OF BIORNING. 



A SONG OF FAITH. 

l^E strong, my soul, be strong! 
^^^ Does not the Father send 
Unto thee daily some new proof 
His love will never end? 

Be strong, my soul, be strong! 

What time the shadows fall 
Do thou but listen, thou shalt hear 

The heavenly Father's call. 

Be strong, my soul, be strong! 

The way seems rough and steep- 
He sends his staff to comfort thee 

And bids thee cease to weep. 

Be strong and full of faith, 
In hope and love be strong, 

And God will guide thee to a rest 
That will be sweet and lorg. 



59 



6o BEADS OF MORNING. 



WATER LILIES. 



ZJ[PON the surface of the river lie 

^^ White water liHes ; left to drift they seem, 

Yet changing winds and currents they defy. 

So may my faith, deep-rooted, rest secure 
Upon the surface of life's running stream, 
And every change of circumstance endure. 



